Raising Skies
by sugarcandyaddiction
Summary: Even in victory everyone knew the world could never again be the way it was before. In a dark future, humanity struggles to rebuild after the war. Ben Mason is the notorious leader of an underground resistance, finding himself on the other side of the battle line against former allies, friends, and family alike.
1. The End

**Summary**: Ten years after the war ended with humanity proving victorious, society is in the process of rebuilding itself. Skitters are kept in refugee camps cordoned off by large brick walls and monitored like prisoners. Children that wore harnesses are treated as second-class citizens, denied basic human rights, registered and tagged with microchips that track their movements. In this dark future, Ben Mason is the notorious leader of an underground resistance, now fighting on the other side of the battle line against former allies, friends, and family alike.

**Warnings**: Dark subject matter, and heavy in political diatribe. AU after Season 1. Unlike my previous fics, this story WILL NOT focus on a single romantic pair. It's a general fic, and will attempt to incorporate most all of the characters from the show. There will be romantic pairings of every nature: heterosexual, homosexual, OCxMainCharacter, etc., that being said, romance is not the main plot, and pairings are not a focus so much as a consequence of the story. This story will not be updated regularly like my other fic, but intermittently.

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**Prologue: The End**

_The war is over. What comes next? God only knows._

- Last entry in the war journal of Tom Mason,  
Second-In-Command, 2nd Massachusetts  
(Presumed date) May 17, 2015

...

There was no air conditioning in the building. The room only had a few tiny slit windows that lined the ceiling. They were the only source of light, yellow rays of sun streaming in and cutting through the dreary atmosphere. The muggy summer weather weighed heavy in the air. The walls were white washed brick; they made the place appear brighter, cheerier in an eerie way. In the room there was only the table with two chairs, one placed on either side.

Tom nodded stiff acknowledgement to the guard holding the door open, an oversized grunt in a blue suit.

"You have two minutes, Master Framer," the guard said.

Tom entered the room and took a seat in one of the chairs. Ben was seated across the table from him in the other. The door thudded closed and there was a series of clicking noises as locks slid into place.

Ben hardly looked his twenty years of age. His features were smooth, his skin slightly bronzed and hair bleached gold by days spent baking in the sun. He was well-built, streamlined with hard, wiry muscles. Despite the chains that bound his wrists to the chair and ankles to the ground and the collar around his neck that could deliver a thousand volts of electric shock directly into his central nervous system at the touch of a button on the guard's hip, he wore a carefree smirk. Only his eyes, cast with shadows of dark torment, belayed the true depth of his maturity and grasp of the severity of his situation.

"This is nice. It's been awhile since we've been able to just sit down and talk," Ben spoke first. Though he kept his tone light, his words had a noticeably sharp edge to them.

"I'm at a loss, Ben. I've done everything that I can," Tom started, a quiver in his voice. He lowered his eyes to study his weathered and calloused hands balled together on the table top. They were visibly trembling despite pouring all his strength into willing them still.

"Not everything," Ben retorted bitterly.

Tom quickly darted his gaze up. He could hear the intended meaning in Ben's voice, but he needed to see it for himself in those grisly features. He tried to recall what the young man before him had looked like before Ben's expression had become so gnarled with bitter resent, but all Tom could see was a sinister perversion of the gentle child Ben had once been.

"This isn't what I wanted for you. You know that," Tom whispered.

"Yet you did nothing to stop it," Ben replied unimpressed. He turned his face away, shifted his body, causing his chains to rattle and clank. Tom flinched from the sound, that awful reminder of where they were and how far they had come from where they'd been.

"I did everything that I could," Tom insisted, his tone becoming a desperate plea, "I'm still doing everything that I can but…but…"

"It isn't enough," Ben roared. He snapped his eyes back on Tom and hissed, "You're a hypocrite, a coward, a liar and you disgust me. I can't even stand the sight of you, you make me so sick."

"You don't get to say those kinds of things to me, not after what you've done," Tom returned with just as much venom, "Not after I held my son's broken body in my arms-"

"I'm you're son, too! I'm still you're son," Ben cut in, his voice cracking with emotion, "Or am I not…?"

Tom slumped over the table, overcome with the sorrow mangling that question.

"Why can't you understand? We're trying to build a world…a new world so that humanity can rise up…" Tom murmured.

"Yeah. But this world you're building isn't meant for me, is it?" Ben interrupted, "For me or the rest of my kind."

"It can be," but even as the protest fell from Tom's tongue he knew it was falling on deaf ears.

"You didn't answer me," Ben whispered, peering up at Tom with shivering ominous orbs, "Am I not still your son…?"

The door opened and the guard called in, "Time's up, Master Framer."

Tom rose from his chair, his gaze trained on the floor. His feet shuffled unsteadily forward. He felt he drifted more than walked towards the door.

"Dad?" Ben called after in a hollow croak, "You didn't answer me."

It would forever echo in Tom's mind minutes, hours, and years later, Ben's steady candor, underlined with only a slight tint of melancholy.

"Dad."

Tom paused at the door, looked back, curious at the change in tone. The guard watched Tom, darting alert glances every so often to Ben, finger hovering over the button that could drop Ben unconscious, writhing in muscle spasms on the ground, with one touch. Tom had seen it once before, the effects of that collar, and the memory still haunted his dreams. He hoped in that moment he wouldn't have to see it again, God, please, not in that moment.

"This is your last chance, dad," Ben told Tom. He grinned, features a tormented caricature of his childhood face; his eyes seared with horrors untold, "Say your good-byes now, you don't want any regrets, right? After all, tomorrow is my execution. I'll be dead by dawn."

Tom took a deep breath, let it out slow. The air trembled across his lips.

"I'm sorry, Ben," he said. He started out the door and hesitated a moment, his hand rest on the frame. It was metal, cold to the touch. Wearily, he murmured across a soft breath, "I'm sorry, Rebekah, I loved him…it wasn't enough."

Tom exited the room and the door slammed shut behind him, its heaviness resounded in his chest as he stalked down the hall and out of the building, never once looking back.

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AN: Thanks for stopping in! Please let me know what you think. Review, review!

I'll try to get chapter one up in the next couple weeks because I know it's hard to gauge a story's as interesting from something so short. Once I finish writing the last chapters of Fire Light, and can start it's next part, then I'll get up chapter 1.


	2. Out of the Ashes

**Chapter 1: Out of the Ashes**

_Today man has proven…no…echoed _

_What in the past into our future has always held true_

_When the skies fell, and the end of days for man seemed near, we did not falter_

_We stood tall, we stood strong, _

_We stood and we raised those skies back up._

- Captain Daniel Weaver,  
Commanding Officer, 2nd Massachusetts,  
Speech given after the final cease fire, June 3rd, 2015

...

Five miles outside of Memorial City was erected ominous Compound Five, one of the seven sanctioned "Refugee Camps for Displaced Non-Indigenous Species".

Beyond its chain-linked fence, barbed wire, and slate gray brick wall, the land was wild and overgrown. Ruined buildings, paved roads, houses, remnants of a civilization not long dead were blanketed in bright green moss, creeper vines pushed up and broke apart what man had created over the course of generations and the aliens had destroyed in a matter of days.

The camps proved a lasting monument to the war and, as an extension, to the world that had existed before the aliens invaded – an otherwise forgotten history.

Most of the citizens of Memorial City, and the other cities that had risen in the wake of mankind's victory, chose not to acknowledge the existence of the camps. Guards kept watch along their walls, though the occupants seemed disinterested in breaking conditions established in the signed 'Interspecies Treaty' by crossing outside of the camps, and for people, mostly older generations still haunted by memories of the war, that was more than enough security to put it far from mind.

For younger generations, however, there was a sort of excitement to the camps. Teenagers coming of age snuck out of the city limits at night and illicitly hiked out to Compound Five. It was considered a rite of passage to crawl through the chain-linked fence and spend the night inside of the refugee camp. There was a fabled old sewer entrance that was believed to lead under the brick wall, and many a teenager had crept through bracken and overgrowth, trailing along the camp perimeter in search of it.

It was Victory Day, anniversary of the day the war had been won. A decade had passed since the aliens were finally defeated, the Interspecies Treaty drawn up and signed, and the resurrection of society began.

Five more Memorial City teenagers trekked around the camp's edge in hopes of finding the passage. Three drunken boys, Danny, Jaden, and Wes, stumbled around, laughing and joking, waving their stolen bottles of beer in the air and proclaiming proudly that they would be the ones to find the sewer entrance. Behind them trailed two girls, Leah and Nicki, huddled together, whispering conspiratorially and giggling; they were jittery and anxious about the whole affair. They had only flashlights to cut through the moonless night. They had packs slung over their shoulders, filled with a few provisions and topped with sleeping bags. The girls had water bottles knocking at their hips; the boys only brought a couple six packs.

"Now this here," Danny slurred, coming to a sudden halt and pointing exaggeratedly at a red mark on the wall, "Is where me and Yeni stopped last time we was out here. We got farther round the perimeter than anyone else-"

"How do you even know that?" Nicki interjected, her voice pitchy.

"I know, 'cause I talked to people," Danny answered sharply and then continued, "So if we keep going from here, we'll get farther than anyone else has ever gotten and we should find it tonight."

"Rumors say that the sewer entrance was somewhere on the west side of the camp," Leah agreed, "We're only a few miles from the end of the west wall. If we reach the end and don't find it that means it doesn't exist."

"Or the rumors are wrong and it's on one of the other sides," Wes put in.

"If we do find it tonight though…?" Nicki began. She left the question hanging unasked in the air, wrapped her arms over her stomach and leaned into Leah.

"Then we go in," Danny declared. He staggered off-balance and attempted to right himself, taking a swig of his beer.

"I don't know," Leah murmured.

"Oh come on," Danny hiccupped, "You going to turn alien on me and run?"

"No. Maybe we could just…come back tomorrow night with more people," Leah suggested.

"It does seem stupid to rush in," Jaden agreed.

"Listen to all of you," Danny cried, the others attempting to hush him out of fear one of the camp guards would hear, "If we find the entrance, we gotta go in. Why would we wait? Do you know how many kids have wandered around the dark looking for this thing, hoping to find it, to be the first humans in _ten years_ to stand inside of the camp? We would be first! And you want to share that with other people? Where's your sense of adventure?"

"Oh shut up, Danny, we haven't even found it yet," Nicki said.

"That's why we need to stop arguing and start _moving_," Danny hissed.

"Everyone be quiet," Wes interrupted.

The other four teenagers faltered, looking at him quizzically. He was fixated on the darkness past them, darting his light through the distant bushes.

"What is it?" Jaden wondered, stepping forward and flashing his light around as well.

"I don't know, I thought I saw something," Wes muttered, "Maybe just a deer or…"

"Stop it, you're just trying to scare us," Nicki whimpered.

"No, I swear, I saw some-"

_Boom!_

The teenagers fell to the ground, some latching onto one another, some throwing hands over their heads. The ground quaked and the area lit red and orange and white, as rock and debris rained overhead. When the fire died down, and the noise subsided, they peeked up but their lights couldn't cut through the settling haze of dust. For ages they lay on their bellies, gasping for air and pleading their hearts to slow in their pounding paces.

Eventually, Danny climbed to his feet first, tentatively stepping forward. Behind him his friends rose one by one. A siren blared overhead, a shrill scream, and all of the teens slammed hands over their ears in attempt to shut out the bone-shivering noise.

"Danny, come back," Wes yelled, "We have to go."

Reluctantly, Danny followed after his retreating friends, darting looks over his shoulder.

"Wait," he called suddenly, and they all stumbled to a stop, turning back to glimpse a figure stepping out of the ashes.

It was a man – of that much they could see with their dim flashlight streams. Evenly spaced along the man's spine, starting from the base of his neck down to his mid-back, jutted out bits of metal tinted blue at their tips. For a moment that felt eternal, he looked at them with severely drawn features and shadowed eyes, and then he pulled a jacket up over his shoulders to effectively hide away the spikes, tugged its hood over his head to obscure his features, and dashed into the night, gone in the seeming blink of an eye.

…

Anthony sipped his coffee. It was bitter. He put the mug down on the table and glared over the report in his hand at the five bedraggled teenagers across from him. He couldn't blame them for their weary appearance and blank stares. They had spent the past five hours being interrogated by less-than-thrilled refugee guards. The compound was meant to be an easy job, sit on the wall and watch the minutes tick by, maybe chastise and drive home a group of wayward teenagers every now and then to break up the day's monotony. Investigating an explosion that ripped partway through the bricks that formed the west wall of Compound Five meanwhile avoiding flak from their supervisors and the day guards as to how that could even happen on their watch did not make for a happy interrogation.

Eventually, as details about the whole event became clearer, it was determined that the entire mess fell into New World Peacekeeper jurisdiction and subsequently, having drawn the short straw, Anthony and his partner Gordon's respective laps.

"Can we call our parents now?" one of the boys whined.

"There are still some things we need to clarify," Anthony replied, keeping his tone expertly apathetic. He drummed his fingers on the table top, skimming the report again, for no more reason than to merely pass time.

Gordon had left to retrieve a detailed inventory of damage from the scene; it was being freshly printed by the refugee guards. Anthony took another sip of his coffee and checked his wristwatch. He wished his partner would hurry so they could wrap things up with the kids and get the hell out of there. He hated being so close to Compound Five, and a person couldn't get any closer than RC-DNIS Watch Headquarters, that is, not without stepping through the chain-link fence.

Peacekeeper detail seemed an odd job to take for a man determined to distance himself as far from the war as possible, but life had always been a twisting, turning path for Anthony so, in that way, accepting the responsibility of enforcing the 'peace' he fought hard to forge seemed his inevitable fate. Regardless, it made him no less eager to be anywhere near Earth's former enemies, no matter how many walls and fences stood between them.

The door to the interrogation room clicked open and Gordon shuffled inside, closing the door behind him. He handed Anthony the damage inventory for review, sipping at his own mug of coffee and pacing behind the table. After a minute or so, Anthony set the papers aside. He massaged his forehead. Then he leaned on his elbows and glared at the teenagers across from him. They stared owlishly back.

"What the hell was the point of this explosion if it barely made a hole in that wall large enough to look through?" he demanded.

The question wasn't meant for the teenagers but they glanced anxiously amongst one another as though it were, regardless.

Gordon pulled the chair beside Anthony out and plopped down. He put his mug on the table then leaned back, folding his arms over his chest. He looked up at the teenagers meaningfully.

"Let's go through this one more time, kids," he announced.

The five teenagers groaned and slumped over themselves.

"You were taking a walk around the perimeter…" Gordon prompted. He twirled his fingers in the air, indicating that one or all of the teenagers should pick up the story from there.

"We were just having fun," one of the girls murmured, "We know it was wrong-"

"Wrong? It was a little more than wrong. You were breaking at least three laws," Anthony pointed out, then proceeded to list the laws, ticking each off with his fingers, "Outside city limits without official travel documents, within the fifty yard boundary of Compound Five, and, not to mention, out past curfew."

"They also had to clip the fence to get in, that's not just a federal offense, it's a break in intergalactic treaty," Gordon added.

"The fence was already clipped when we got there," one of the boys argued, but he lowered his head shame-faced at a stern look from both Peacekeepers.

"You know, for these allegations alone we could detain all of you for the next three months and we wouldn't even have to tell your parents where you were or why," Anthony remarked. He made a show of looking over the papers again as though bored so as to give the impression that making such a decision would be as difficult to him as choosing whether he wanted two or three creams in his coffee.

"We're so sorry, please, we're cooperating," one of the other boys whimpered. His friends looked pathetically at the Peacekeepers, pleading with their pouted eyes and trembling bottom lips.

"Alright, alright, so you were out having fun," Anthony grumbled, giving them the okay to proceed.

"All of the kids do it," the girl continued.

Anthony and Gordon nodded and said nothing; it wasn't exactly news to them. None of the Peacekeepers ever dreamed of enforcing the boundary laws on teenagers caught near Compound Five. Most refugee guards didn't bother reporting when teenagers were found on the inside of the chain-linked fence. The laws weren't exactly created for the hormone-addled adolescents seeking to impress their peers, and no refugee guard was masochistic enough to want to create more paperwork for himself because of such a trivial offense.

"We were looking for the…" the girl paused, sighed, rolled her eyes as though deeply embarrassed at having to make her next admittance, "The sewer entrance that goes inside of the refugee camp."

"There isn't one," Gordon responded automatically. It sounded rehearsed.

"We know that," one of the boys hastily amended, "It's just for shits and giggles, you know. Ghost stories and treasure hunts."

"Right," Anthony drawled sarcastically, "Get to the explosion."

"Well, Wes thought he heard something," the girl took over again. One of the boys, most likely 'Wes', perked and straightened slightly at the name.

"No, he _saw _something," the other girl cut in.

"Oh, yeah, saw…he saw something. So we started looking for it," the first girl continued, "And then there was this loud noise, it sounded like thunder. Only louder, way louder."

"Loud thunder. Got it," Gordon muttered.

"We all hit dirt then," one of the boys said, "And there was a bright light."

"Bright light? Could you be a little more specific about the light? Was there color? Was there heat?" Anthony spoke up.

"It wasn't really so much like a light as a…uh…as a fire," one of the other boys explained, "And it was hot. We weren't that close to it but I could feel it, I thought it might've burned off my eyebrows or something, that's how hot it was."

"Fire, right," Anthony murmured. He leaned towards Gordon and whispered, "Incendiary explosive. Rules out alien tech."

Gordon nodded his agreement and both men settled back into their chairs.

"Afterwards, the sirens started going off and we figured we ought to get out of there before the guards showed up," the girl took over again, "We were running away but then, Danny was like, 'hold up', and so we looked back and that's when we saw him. He walked out of the explosion; we thought he maybe came from the other side."

"I thought he was one of…one of _them_ at first," one of the boys said, awestruck.

"But he wasn't. He was human. Definitely human," another boy added, "He looked at us and then he took off. Then that's when the guards showed up."

"Okay. A human male," Anthony reiterated for clarity, straightening and taking another sip of his coffee. It was getting more bitter with every taste, and it was almost room temperature now. He shuffled through the reports, and said, "Can any of you remember any more details about the suspect? Anything at all? Skin color, hair color? Maybe eye color? Height, build? Clothing?"

"Tallish," one of the girls started, "Maybe…average to tallish?"

"I don't know, he looked a little short to me," the other girl said, "And he had dark hair. Really dark and wavy."

"No, his hair wasn't dark at all. It was blond, almost white," one of the boys retorted.

"Okay, I have a short to tallish, dark haired, blond," Anthony spoke up, only a slight hint of annoyance in his tone. He'd forgotten how much he loved that walking-in-circles feeling that came along with gathering eye-witness statements, it made him nostalgic for his days on the Boston police force back before the aliens invaded, "Anything else to add? Or should I just put out an APB on every human male in the area?"

"What's an APB?" one of the boys wondered aloud.

Anthony buried his face in his palm. He comforted himself with the reminder that these kids were probably about two or three when the aliens invaded, but then suddenly he felt a little old and the comfort was gone.

"Never mind," he muttered. He looked at Gordon exasperated. Gordon shrugged response.

"Well there was…" one of the girls began. She caught herself, lowered her eyes and fell silent.

"What? Do you remember something else?" Anthony pressed. The girl shrugged and shook her head.

"It's nothing. I think I was just seeing things," she mumbled.

"Well, why don't you tell us anyways and we'll decide if it's nothing," Anthony gently insisted.

"I just…I could've sworn I saw…well, I think he had…" the girl sighed and pointed to the back of her neck, "Like these…I don't know how to…like…they were spike things in his back."

Anthony's brow shot up. Gordon shifted uncomfortably and his eyes narrowed to thin slits.

"You saw that too?" one of the boys exclaimed, "I thought I was losing my mind."

"Wait…you saw them…?" the girl cried, happily, it sounded, that she hadn't been temporarily struck insane by the explosion.

"They were all up his spine right?" one of the other boys said, "Bluish, I think, right?"

"Yeah, yeah," the other girl agreed, "And they kind of like…looked sort of…metal looking. That's weird though, right? There's no way…"

Gordon gave Anthony a look, his silent message clear. Anthony felt his stomach bottom out. He nodded stiffly his understanding and concession.

"We have all that we need. Thank you. You're all free to leave. I suggest you put this night behind you," Gordon announced. He and Anthony rose from the table in unison, scooped up their documents and strode hastily from the room.

They said a few parting words to the refugee guards and gave instruction to drive the teenagers home with a firm reprimanding and heavy warning not to come out this way again, though they felt the teens had probably been scared enough by the whole ordeal to never want to venture near Compound Five again let alone ever hear tale of it. Both men exited the building and climbed into the truck they'd driven out there in.

"Holy shit," Gordon breathed as soon as they were definitely out-of-range of prying ears, "Holy fucking shit."

"This doesn't seem possible," Anthony whispered. He gripped the steering wheel tight, gingerly increasing the acceleration and speeding their truck along the road back towards city limits, as thoughts pummeled their way through his mind, "Maybe they saw wrong…or maybe..."

"Were you not in that room with me? Those kids wouldn't have known how to see this wrong," Gordon spat out, "They had no fucking clue what they were looking at."

"So…okay…so we're dealing with a Former Harnessed," Anthony carefully ventured. He struggled to draw air into his lungs and then push it out without obvious effort. He silently prayed for Gordon not to say what he knew was indubitably coming next.

"Not just any Former Harnessed. We've got a rogue Razorback on our hands," Gordon hissed, "Holy shit."

"No…no way. All living Razorbacks are tagged and accounted for," Anthony argued, "Hell, there's only three in Memorial, and if any one of them had stepped one foot out of their quarantine zone it would've red flagged and Enforcers would've been on him in a heartbeat."

"Not _all_ living Razorbacks are accounted for," Gordon pointed out.

Anthony scowled, then immediately wiped away the expression.

"That's not an option I'm willing to explore," he grumbled.

"Why?" Gordon demanded, "Because of the implications?"

"Hell fucking yes because of the fucking implications," Anthony growled, "And, also, because it is impossible. And, also, because I like my job too much to risk losing it pursuing something so stupid and, did I mention, _impossible_."

"You hate your job," Gordon replied, and then added petulantly, "And it isn't impossible."

"I like the benefits that come with my job," Anthony returned smartly, "I think we need to just sit back and think on it. Do you know how many names we would have to implicate in a suggestion like…like _him_? No…no, no. We need to hold off for a bit, get our heads straight, and maybe explore other options. Like, I don't know, this is all a hoax?"

"Who would put together a hoax like this?" Gordon cried.

"One of the extremist groups, maybe? The Purity Initiative, Red Water, Sisters for a Better Tomorrow, we got a whole bunch of xenophobic whack-jobs, take your pick," Anthony said, "They rig up this explosion, make it look like a Razorback attempted to break the treaty and start War of the Worlds II, and all just in time for voting to start on the proposed amendments to the Razorback Laws. Suddenly Memorial is back under martial law, all the F.H. are locked down in concentration camps and under twenty-four seven surveillance, there's public outcry for the execution of those three Razorbacks in the city, and these groups have the leverage they need to push for the genocide of all hybridized humans."

"I don't know, Anthony, it seems like a hell of an elaborate plot to put together all for-"

"A divine cleansing of the human race? Or…what is Red Water's deal…proper closure of our bio-sphere?" Anthony challenged, "Point is, they all have reasons, they all think their reasons are good and righteous, and they're all willing to do whatever it takes because the ends always justifies the means when you have 'good, righteous reasons'."

"Exactly," Gordon replied, putting stress on his every syllable, "They _all_ have their reasons. And no one has more reason than a Razorback."

Anthony sighed. He shook his head and tightened his hands around the steering wheel, feeling the blood drain from his knuckles.

"It's odd," Anthony mumbled, deciding to attempt a different approach to his argument, "Kids said he stopped and looked at them, the perp. He knew they were there and he just stood there with his back exposed – he had to be without a shirt for them to see it so clearly. At night? In the cold? Without a shirt? It's almost like he wanted them to see those spikes, to know that the explosion was set off by a Razorback. Why would he do that? If he wasn't just a member of one of those groups attempting to stir up anti-hybrid sentiment amongst the public?"

"Because maybe he didn't do it as a message to the public," Gordon suggested, "Maybe he did it as a message to us. Maybe he wasn't trying to tell us the explosion was set off by a Razorback, maybe he was trying to tell us that _he_ set it off. Maybe all of this was just to tell us that _he_ was back."

Anthony shifted uncomfortably in the driver's seat. He slowed the truck at the city gate, flashed his Identity token and handed over his and Gordon's travel documents to the security guard manning the barrier. They were permitted entry, a buzzer going off, the yellow bar lifting and a green light flashing signal to move forward. Anthony eased the truck into the city streets, heading towards Peacekeeper Central Headquarters.

"I think we should do a little more investigating before we draw any conclusions," Anthony said steadily, brain wracking for more protests.

"Fine…we'll wait," Gordon replied, "But command isn't going to wait forever for you to 'explore other options'. Ockham's Razor, Anthony, as in _Razorback_."

It was clear Gordon had already made up his mind about conclusions and there wasn't much further investigation could do to sway it. Anthony sighed, pulling into the central parking lot and turning off the engine of their truck.

Gordon started up towards the building but Anthony split the opposite direction, waving him ahead, "I have to call my wife, let her know I'm going to be out late."

"I don't know how you manage to keep a relationship as a Peacekeeper," Gordon commented, shaking his head and continuing into Central.

"Communication is key," Anthony shouting after, grinning, but the moment his partner disappeared into the building, Anthony's expression darkened. He stalked to the street corner and entered the public phone booth. He picked up the receiver, quickly punched in a number, and waited until the other end of the line picked up, "Hey…yeah, it's me. Uh…shit, it's about…" he glimpsed his wrist watch, "Ten-thirty, huh? Sorry for the late call, but I just got back from investigating an incident out at the RC-DNIS, and you will not believe who decided to wander back into Memorial…"

Anthony paused for effect. He leaned against the phone booth, took a deep breath to mentally prepare himself for the name he thought would never again have to tumble from his lips.

"…Benjamin Mason."

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AN: Yeah, the chapters get really long on this one. Right now, they're all averaging about 5k words.

Thank you to the reviewers last chapter! I'm glad so many people are eager to see where this story is going. Yeah, I think I mentioned it already before, but this story will incorporate a lot of the characters from Falling Skies, and it won't exactly focus on any single one (except, maybe Ben, but we don't even get his POV until chapter 5, so then probably not, he's just the driving force of the plot). Right, if you've never read my stories before, I should mention, I try to write ahead, so I've already got several chapters written for this story. And I know how it ends, so please don't try to tell me what I should write next, because I know what I'm writing next, I don't need your input. I do love when people speculate about what's coming next though, it's fun for me.

Don't fret if I don't update for a long period of time, the next chapter is coming. I just have divided attention right now. I'll try to get chapter 2 up whenever I finish writing Fire Light and the latest chapter I'm working on for this chapter.

Okay, that's all for now. Let me know what you think!


	3. Ghosts

**Chapter 2: Ghosts**

_Do I remember when the skies fell? No. Who would remember something like that?  
We won, the aliens are gone. Forget about the skies, let's get back to Earth._

- Interview with Matthew Mason,  
Son of Master Framer Thomas Mason  
November 3, 2016

...

It was late. The clock overhead sang out eleven chimes, and Tom sighed, lifting his mug and finding it empty. Another sigh. He stood from the dining room table and stumbled into the kitchen, finding the coffee pot cold on the stove and, also, empty. A third sigh.

"You could just come to bed."

Tom turned slightly to peer at the beautiful, dark featured woman leaning against the kitchen door frame, arms folded over her chest, a bemused smirk on her lip, her brow quirked suggestively. Tom put his mug on the counter and leaned back against it.

"You know I would love to, Anne," he admitted, and she pulled a face, recognizing the 'but' in his tone. He smiled apologetically at her, "I have four more proposals to sift through, and I have to put the finishing touches on my own before I can even think about sleep."

"Congressional hearing is tomorrow," Anne noted, wandering into the kitchen. She picked up the coffee pot and stuck it under the faucet, turning the water on. She streamed some soap inside of the pot, plucked a sponge off the side of the sink, and began scrubbing.

"This one is important," Tom said.

"I know, I know, more amendments to the constitution. Already," Anne murmured. She brought a hand up to delicately tuck her hair behind her ear, "It feels like you just wrote the damn thing."

"It wasn't going to be perfect out the door. I told you that," Tom replied, sidling up beside her and slinking an arm round her waist. He pressed a kiss to her cheek and she smiled vaguely.

"When will it be perfect?" Anne wondered.

"Hopefully never. The first ten amendments to the United States Constitution were added the day it was voted and signed into effect. It was about ten years later when the eleventh was added, and then another ten years later when they added the twelfth. They called it a 'living document' because it was constantly being changed, altered, _evolving_, to become whatever the people needed it to be at that moment in history," Tom explained, "And that's the way this new document needs to be: flexible, able to change to suit the current needs of the people."

He was settling into his professor-mode, a layover from his days before the invasion, and Anne couldn't help the nostalgic grin overcoming her features. Sometimes the politician Tom had become in recent times overshadowed the man she fell in love with during the war.

"You would think we'd of learned a bit from that old document, though, and applied it to the new one," Anne pointed out, "Especially with a history buff on the writing committee."

"I'm a _war_ history buff," Tom corrected. He sighed, "We also have a former state assemblyman, a lobbyist, a political science analyst, and a Capitol Hill journalist on the committee. Of the Master Framers, I may be the least qualified."

"But you are certainly the handsomest," Anne teased, placing a chaste kiss to Tom's lips. She dried off the pot and set it on the counter.

"There were a lot of unprecedented issues to address in drafting the New World Letters," Tom continued, "The U.S. Framers didn't exactly have to figure out what to do with a population of unpredictable, formerly hostile extraterrestrials abandoned here by their retreating overlords."

Tom's brow creased severely. He didn't even have to speak the next words; Anne knew exactly what he was thinking and which direction his impromptu lecture was about to take.

"They didn't have to deal with a whole group of people experimented on by the alien occupationists – some of those people so drastically altered genetically they didn't even look or think like humans anymore," he said, suddenly pacing agitatedly as he spoke, "They didn't have to determine what kinds of rights to give those people, or deny them, in the face of public outcry for the banishment or even outright mass murder of those people. Hell, they didn't have to argue about whether they could even consider or refer to them as people anymore!"

Tom paused, hands on his hips, scowling at the ground and the old memories now spiraling tumultuously round his brain. Anne moved forward to lightly touch his shoulder and he peered up at her momentarily, his eyes unfocused and shadowed with dark things. He sighed and moved away, speaking again in a somber tone.

"They didn't have to figure out how to redistribute resources in as equal a manner as possible. They didn't have to figure out what to do with an unbalanced population. We had a severely high ratio of children to adults, and a gross overpopulation of war orphans. We lacked skilled tradesmen, and sure, using the alien technology to help gain control of the chaotic masses, rebuild cities and the social infrastructure put us way ahead of the curve on a lot of things, but I can't help thinking that…that it was more a detriment than an aid to us."

"I know, Tom," Anne whispered soothingly, "It's been a lot of trial and error, I know. Sometimes, I just wish you didn't feel as though you had to be the one to fix everything. You've done all that you can."

"Ah…but that would mean surrender, and we Masons…" Tom gently returned.

"I know, I know. Never surrender," Anne laughed. She happily allowed Tom to drag her into his arms, kissing her sweet and passionate.

They broke apart at a hard knock on their front door.

"Who could that be at this hour?" Anne wondered.

Tom strode hesitantly through the family room towards the door and Anne paused at the family room entry. She leaned against the doorframe leading from the kitchen, arms folded over her chest, watching as Tom opened their front door. From her position, Anne couldn't see the shadowed figure on the doorstep, features cloaked by a hooded sweatshirt, but Tom had a clear view of the stranger's face, recognizing him instantly.

"Where…" Tom gasped, glancing swiftly outside as if searching for an audience, then tugging the figure into the house by his collar and hastily slamming the door shut.

"No one followed me if that's your concern," the figure jeered in a low, brusque drawl.

Immediately, Anne knew who the late-night caller was – his voice still haunted her dreams. She straightened, tensing, alert and at the ready. Her heart thrummed panic in her chest. She took a subconscious step towards the stairs, where hers and Tom's toddler daughter and infant son both slept.

"Ben…what are you doing here?" Tom demanded.

"What's wrong, dad? I can't just swing by for a visit? You know, I was just in the neighborhood…" Ben replied tartly. He removed the hood. His features hadn't changed much over the years, a twenty-something face slightly worn from a hard life and too long spent wearing the same grim expression. He smirked casually at his father, but his eyes were cold, darkly things.

"Tom, he can't be here," Anne whispered. She flinched when Ben darted her look of appraisal all at once apathetic and resentful.

"What's the matter, Dr. Glass? Does my presence remind you that you're only the replacement family?" he taunted, his attention returned to Tom, "Dad lost everything to the aliens. Matt is all he has left…if even him. Where is he, by the way? Or have you finally lost him too dad? And then there's you, Dr. Glass, and your bastard child, the stand-ins."

"Wait upstairs, Anne, I'll deal with it," Tom returned. He kept his tone light yet terse, his eyes fixed on his wayward second eldest son. Ben tilted his chin down, snorting softly at the comment. Anne took another step towards the stairs, hesitated a moment.

"Tom…" she began.

Tom turned slightly, offered her his best reassuring smile. It resembled a grimace. Anne nodded and hastened up the stairs to check on her children.

"I'm something to be dealt with?" Ben remarked amusedly.

"Why are you here, Ben?" Tom demanded. He folded his arms over his chest, pulled himself up to his full height, an attempt at looking intimidating despite knowing that the young man before him had at least forty-pounds of muscle on him, moved and struck with the swiftness and force of a speeding bullet, and could deadlift a small vehicle with relative ease.

Ben shrugged, pacing about a couple steps as he sheepishly rubbed the back of his head and eyed his father, unreadable emotions flickering through his clouded eyes.

"Like I said, I was in town, thought I'd come by and say 'hi'," Ben answered nonchalant, joking, "Should I go up and see Becky? I mean, I haven't seen her since…well, hell, dad, since she was born."

"You'll stay away from my children," Tom challenged, moving as though to block the staircase even as Ben remained in the foyer, no obvious intent to move further into the house. Ben's brow jumped at that sudden, vehement intonation.

"Children?" Ben reiterated musingly, "Obviously you meant 'child'…because you couldn't possibly mean to say…"

He faltered, studying his father. Tom dropped his eyes only for a fraction of a second, but it was long enough for Ben to read meaning. Ben snorted softly and waltzed away a few steps.

"I see. You weren't going to tell me I had another sibling, were you? Is it a boy or girl? Does it matter…I'll probably never lay eyes on it…hell, it'll probably never know I exist, right, dad?" he mused distantly, glancing back at his father and sneering, "Does Rebekah even know I exist?"

"Ben," Tom growled warning, repeating his original question, "Why are you in town?"

"Business," Ben answered unconcernedly and the word dropped into the pit of Tom's stomach, a parasite feasting on his growing fears.

"Ben, whatever you're planning…" Tom began shakily.

"The genetic reorganization evident in the DNA structure of those children that were formerly harnessed, regardless of length of time wearing the harness, is significant and could have devastating unforeseen consequences for the overall human gene-pool. We do not know what the aliens have done to them or what it will mean for their offspring or for the entire remainder of the human species. Because of the risk, Former Harnessed children cannot be allowed to procreate either amongst one another or in the general population. Furthermore, mandatory sterilization of all Former Harnessed is recommended as an absolute necessity," Ben interjected, speaking as though reciting from memory. He spun on Tom, smirked wistfully even as his eyes darkened over, and quipped, "Sound familiar?"

Tom remained pensively silent.

"It should. Your bitch girlfriend wrote it," Ben snapped.

"Benjamin, I will not have you speaking that way about Anne," Tom roared.

"You let her name her child after my mother, you sick bastard," Ben returned with as much force, spinning round to meet his father glare for glare, "You want to know my plans? As if anything I could possibly plan could be anymore cruel, anymore unjust, anymore fucked up than anything you and your kind have planned against me and my own!"

"Your kind? My kind? We are the same kind," Tom bemoaned.

"No, dad, we aren't," Ben scoffed, jabbing an accusatory finger at his father, "And you're the one who decided that, don't forget it. You're the one who took my humanity away, not the aliens, not the harness, dad, it was _you_."

"Don't you understand that everything I have ever done has been to protect you," Tom argued.

"Right up to the point where they put the gun to my head?" Ben bit back.

"That was your own doing."

"You forced my hand!"

"To strike against your own brother?"

Ben faltered and there was a creak up above, Anne reappearing at the top of the staircase.

"You have ten minutes to get out," she said, her tone strong but unsteady, "I've called the Enforcers. They're already on their way."

Ben narrowed his eyes on Anne a moment, then darted a hard, unforgiving look to his father.

"It was your choices that brought us here, dad, and everything that happens from here on out is on your hands. I am what you made me, I just wanted you to know that," he seethed, before tearing out the front door.

"Dammit, Anne," Tom cried, moving as though to chase after Ben, though he paused in the entry, gripping the frame and glaring out into the night, Ben long since raced out of sight, "I told you I would handle it."

"I had to think about our children," Anne replied softly, "They would've already red flagged him, Tom, you know that. They would've known he was in the city...there are only so many places he would've gone...if we didn't report…"

"But ten minutes, Anne? He's my son," Tom said, slamming the door shut and turning to face Anne. Her face was damp, though no tears were falling.

"Not anymore. You owe him nothing," Anne reminded Tom tersely, dropping her face into her palms and whispering, "I'm sorry, Tom."

Tom sighed, reached forward and dragged Anne into a half-embrace.

"No. No, I'm sorry," Tom told her, "You made the right choice…choice I couldn't make…that I should've made. I just wonder how the hell he got so far into the city in the first place."

…

_Beep. Boop. Bip. Bip. Beep. _

_Ring. Ring_. _Ring._

_Click_.

"…hi. It's me. Hour is…about…eighteen hundred. It's been five days since I last called in…I know…I know...I've been…busy. Ahem…um…I'm on patrol in Red Quarantine Zone, doing my rounds. So far, so good…all the F.H. on my roster are very well behaved, never really have problems with them, so…um…my partner and I stopped for dinner and I thought I would…"

_Tap, Tap_.

Outside of the phone booth, a chiseled faced thirty-something man with glossy black eyes peered in incredulously. He lifted up a 16-inch hoagie sandwich wrapped in parchment and twin coke bottles expectantly at the young man talking on the phone inside.

Both men wore the same uniforms, crisp gray button up shirts, navy blue trousers and high collar jackets trimmed in silver. Their left jacket sleeves had two patches: the New World flag – red and gold striped with a blue dot in its center, and directly below it the emblem of the Memorial City Enforcers – a ring of fire around a shooting star against black. Their right sleeves had a band of five silver stars embedded across them, and below that were colored patches denoting their unit – First Class Inner-Civilian Protection and Maintenance, the Flamberge unit. Their identity tokens dangled around their necks, looking like silver-dollar coins iridescent on one side.

"Hurry up, Jerry, we only have twenty minutes left to eat," the man outside called.

Jerry momentarily covered the phone mouthpiece to shout response, "I'll be right out, Fulton, I'm almost done." He waited until his partner had walked back towards their car before resuming his phone conversation, "I have to go, my food is ready and we have five more stops before we can check in at headquarters. I…I'll try to call back on schedule next time. Good bye."

Jerry put the phone back on its cradle and slipped out of the booth. He joined Fulton in the car. Fulton handed over half of the sandwich, the bottles of coke were both set side-by-side in the cup holders.

"I'd about been blown over they had cokes at the depot," Fulton exclaimed around a mouthful of sandwich, "Cost about a ten-hour each, but I had to buy 'em. Didn't even think to wonder if you liked pop at all. You do like pop, right?"

"I did. I think. I can't even remember the last time I had a soda," Jerry replied. He took a bite of his own sandwich, and then he set it on his thigh and picked up the bottle, twisting the top off. He swallowed his mouthful before taking a tentative sip of the beverage and his features twisted suddenly in disgust. The brown liquid sizzled on his tongue, felt thick and sugary, and a bit too sweet. He glanced at Fulton, gulping his own coke, and assessed the other man's reaction. Fulton closed his eyes and smacked his lips together approvingly.

"God, that's good stuff," Fulton announced, reverent.

Jerry took another sip of his own and decided his first taste might've been too harshly judged. Either that or, apparently unlike Fulton, his memory of coke was more overstated. He put the bottle back into its holder and bit into his sandwich again.

"Who were you talking to?" Fulton wondered.

"No one," Jerry answered, swallowing his food and washing it down with more coke.

"Oh…I see. Would this be the same no one you called last week? Or the week before that…or the week before _that_…?"

"It's no one," Jerry insisted. He focused on eating his sandwich, taking slow, thoughtful bites. Fulton practically inhaled his own dinner; it was gone before Jerry was barely half-finished. He polished off his soda with a loud burp.

"You gonna finish your pop?" Fulton asked.

Jerry shook his head, graciously offering, "You can have the rest."

Fulton eagerly snatched up the bottle and finished it off in one determined gulp.

"Tell me the truth, Jerry, you aren't seeing someone are you? You would tell your partner if you were, right?" Fulton pressed, elbowing Jerry with a nod and a wink.

"I'm not seeing anyone," Jerry muttered, "Can you just drop it? It's no one. It's…uh…it's just my mother."

"You're mother? You call your mother _every_ fucking week? Like clockwork?" Fulton groaned, "Wow. That's…that's pathetic. It's really very pathetic. You know, Jerry, this is why you don't have a girlfriend."

"And this is why I said it was no one," Jerry grumbled.

"I've told you before about Polly's sister, right? She's very lonely. Her husband died in the invasion, you know. She's a few years your senior, but you know, that means she knows quite a few more tricks than the usual fillies in your stable, if you get my meaning," Fulton said.

"You've told me, yes," Jerry replied, "And I've told you I'm not interested. Thanks, but no."

"Oh, come on, Jerry," Fulton began, but before he could continue his pitch of Polly's widowed sister, a small, flashing red light started flickering on the dashboard of the car, accompanied by a pulsating beeping sound.

"Shit," Jerry hissed. He rewrapped the last bits of his sandwich up and fished under the seat for their radio. He reached forward to turn off the emergency alert on the dashboard, then pressed the 'call' button on the side of the radio and waited for response.

"M-E-H-Q Central Tracking. Unit number and grid?" droned a bored sounding young man through a haze of static.

"Flamberge, five-oh-seven-nine-nine-oh. The Five, Six, and Red Quarantine Zones," Jerry responded. There was a brief pause and then a click and a roar of static.

"You got a red flag tripped on the southeast corner of Six-Qua-Zo."

Fulton straightened. He knocked the crumbs off his lap and threw the car into gear, barreling down the road towards Six Quarantine Zone. They were about twenty minutes away, but the way Fulton drove, they could make it in fifteen.

"You're looking for a fatch registered as Louis Harkin."

"Dammit. Not Lou," Jerry cursed, "This'll be his third red flag this month."

"Fuck. And you know what that means. We have to drag him in for a week's detainment at Sanitary," Fulton growled, jerking the steering wheel into a hard right, "I was really looking forward to an easy night tonight too, but no, that little fatch had to go on a walk outside of his Quarantine and triple our fucking paperwork. Hello overtime, how I've not missed you one fucking bit."

"It's not his fault. He just forgets where the line is…it's not like it's marked…and it keeps changing," Jerry mumbled. He gripped the side of the car in a futile attempt to keep from bowling over when Fulton accelerated into another quick left turn.

"Sometimes, I swear, Jerry, you are way too sympathetic with these bastards," Fulton griped, "City pays us to keep them in the lines, not to be their best friends."

"I know that," Jerry snapped, "I just…feel bad for him, is all. Sanitary is a shitty place to have to spend a night, let alone a whole fucking week. I know you've done rounds at Sanitary; you know what it's like."

"Yeah. I do. I fucking love working Sanitary. Everyone loves working Sanitary. It's one of the most cake jobs you can get in Enforcement, nowhere for the fatches to run, you know?" Fulton replied, "You're telling me you don't?"

"I…" Jerry faltered. He scowled out the windshield and tightened his grip on the door. "Sure, I love working Sanitary. But I'm not Formerly Harnessed."

Fulton wove through the city streets, sidled the car up along the southeast corner of the Six Quarantine Zone and slammed on the brakes. He tugged the keys from the ignition and both men climbed out of the vehicle. It wasn't difficult to find Louis, there was a park near the center of the Six Quarantine Zone with a glass lake that he liked to sit near and people watch. As Jerry predicted, Louis didn't realize he'd stepped outside of his boundary, evidenced by his reaction, smiling and greeting the approaching Enforcers as though nothing were wrong.

"Wait here, Fulton, I'll talk to him," Jerry decided.

"Talk to him? Fuck, Jerry, just take him into custody. We'll toss him in the back of the car, leave him there while we do the rest of our rounds, and then haul his ass back to central," Fulton returned sharply.

"Just wait here," Jerry growled, stalking towards the young man seated peacefully on a bench nibbling dried fruits.

"Hello, Officer Baker," Louis cheerfully piped as Jerry plopped on the bench beside him, "Lovely day, isn't it? I thought my check-in wasn't for another hour."

"That's right," Jerry solemnly replied, sighing and explaining, "You red flagged, Lou."

"I did?" Louis's face fell, "But my boundary line runs across K Street and 7th."

"Not anymore. They dropped it back to J and 4th when the Limited Free Range Act passed, remember? They cut the boundaries of all Level Five Formerly Harnessed from seven square miles to four," Jerry replied plaintively, "We talked about it last month."

"I'm only Level Four," Louis quietly remarked.

"No, you're Level _Five_, Lou, we talked about that too last month…again," Jerry replied, keeping his voice passive, as though he were speaking to a small child, and in many ways, he was; Louis had been taken for harnessing at the age of five, was unharnessed at seven, the war ended when he was eight, putting him right then at the cusp of eighteen, "That's why you live in the Six Quarantine. Tests show you have significant genetic mutations, if they were any more severe you would classify as a Razorback."

"I'm not a Razorback," Louis mumbled.

"No. You're not," Jerry sighed, "Come on, Lou, we have to take you in to Sanitary."

"What? Why?" Louis stammered, panic overtaking his expression, "I'm sorry, Officer Baker, I swear I didn't know. It won't happen again. Can't I just go home?"

"I know, Lou, but you red flagged three times this month," Jerry said, "I don't have a choice. It's recorded at Central; they know how many times you've crossed the line. I have to take you in. It'll only be for a week…"

"I can't go to Sanitary," Louis cried, "I can't! I can't…please don't make me go! Officer Baker, you know I'm not a bad hybrid, I'm trying my best to behave…I just wanted to come to the park…just to sit at the park…please don't make me…"

"I know, Lou," Jerry murmured, watching warily as the young man clambered to his feet, looking much like a rabbit readying to flee. Louis stumbled back a few steps, and Fulton caught hold of him, clamping an iron grip on his arms.

"Done talking?" Fulton jeered.

"No, no, no, no, please, Officer Baker, please," Louis pleaded, struggling futilely as Fulton slipped a needle he'd prepared while Jerry spoke to Louis into Louis's neck, "I can't go to Sanitary…I can't…please don't make me go back to that place…please…please, Officer Baker…please…"

Louis collapsed and Fulton released him, letting him tumble into a heap on the ground. Jerry rolled his eyes up to meet Fulton's, a look of reprove etched in his haunted eyes and set jaw.

"There was no reason to tranq him," Jerry hissed, "I had it under control."

"He was about to bolt," Fulton replied tersely, "Fuck, Jerry, I swear you're too soft on these bastards. Grab his legs."

The two men easily lifted Louis from the ground and carried him to their car, wrestling him into the backseat. Then Fulton and Jerry slid into the front and set off down the road to finish the rest of their rounds. It was a little after ten when they returned to Central. Louis had woken up an hour before, and now sat groggy in the backseat, staring silent and disgruntled out the side window.

"Why don't you go on ahead home, I'll do the paperwork on Harkin, get him shipped off," Jerry suggested.

"Well isn't that swell of you," Fulton teased, looking suddenly intrigued, "Why so charitable?"

"As you like to always point out, you got a wife to go home to, and I don't," Jerry explained with a nonchalant shrug, "Besides, it's Victory Day. Go out, celebrate with Polly," he smirked, "Consider it payback for the coke."

"Right. For the coke," Fulton grinned.

Both men exited the vehicle, and Jerry dragged Louis out by his shirt collar, straightening him on his feet and gesturing him towards the entrance of the pill-box styled building carved out as Enforcer Central Headquarters. Inside there were nearly forty people bustling around, Fulton parted for his desk to sign-out for the night, as Jerry led Louis into the back, locking him in a holding cell. Then Jerry visited Registry on the second floor for Louis's file. On the first floor again, he headed for his desk, nodding a good-bye to Fulton, and tossing the file down.

One side of every desk in Central was a computer display. For the most part, everything was done on it through touchscreen, but a keyboard was connected and set on the other side. Jerry placed his palm on the display to login, then began processing Louis's information and the details of his recent indiscretion. He flopped open the file to find Louis's registry key, the unique code embedded in Louis's tracking device, on one of the papers inside and a tiny paper scrap flittered in the air, falling loftily onto his desk.

Jerry darted a look around the office, then tentatively turned the paper over. There was a seemingly random line of letters and numbers, twenty seven in total. To the unknowing eye, it would look like nothing more than a meaningless jumble of text, but Jerry was one of only two people who knew the code, and he mentally translated its encrypted message.

Underneath his desk, Jerry tore the paper into tiny pieces and sprinkled them into the trash bin beside his desk. He punched in Louis's registry, and Louis's profile filled the screen. For the next couple minutes, he put on the appearance of diligently doing his work, and then he shut the file, took it under his arm, and swiftly made his way downstairs to the basement, where Tracking was located.

There was one officer who worked Tracking that night, a squirrely woman, older than Jerry by a few years, wearing thick-black rimmed glasses and a pink and green bow tie. She glanced up and grinned toothily when Jerry entered. Her desk was an empire of computer equipment, one side constantly surveying the city limits, another displayed the inner city broken down into a grid where the 'lines' were set up to red flag whenever a Formerly Harnessed crossed into zones where he shouldn't be.

If a Formerly Harnessed red flagged, it would pop a red dot on the display screen on the side of the grid where they crossed along with their registry key, then the Tracking Officer on duty would run that registry through the database and pull up the information needed to radio to whichever Enforcers were nearest the area or in charge of the Formerly Harnessed that red flagged.

Flamberge unit, like Jerry and Fulton, officers that managed those Formerly Harnessed categorized as having a high danger level, received special alert and were always specifically radioed when one of theirs red flagged.

Around the entire computer set up was a cage, though there was a counter with a window for interface. Jerry sidled up to that counter, folded his arm atop and leaned across it, grinning through the window.

"Officer Baker," the Tracking Officer exclaimed, "Are you still here so late?"

"Yeah, Tilly, I'm still here," Jerry returned haggardly, with an easy smile, "I had to haul in an F.H. toed his line earlier, needs to be sent to Sanitary, I'm doing the paperwork now."

"Oh, no…tough break," Tilly clucked her tongue, shaking her head in sympathy.

"Not so tough, I get to see your beautiful smile tonight, don't I?" Jerry replied cheekily, and Tilly flushed, dropping her chin and swatting a hand playfully his direction.

"Oh stop," she giggled, then batting her lashes up at him, wondered, "What brings you down my way, officer? Business or pleasure?"

"Sadly…business," Jerry replied, wincing and smirking apologetically, as he held up the folder and continued cheerily, "Though, it's always a pleasure when you're involved. I was wondering if you could do a proxy check on Harkin's tracking device. He swears this isn't his third red flag…and I remembered you telling me last time I was down here that sometimes these tracking devices give off faulty signals or something…phantom or other…?"

"A proxy checkup can take half-an-hour depending on last time one was done," Tilly mumbled uncertainly.

"It would be a huge favor to me," Jerry persisted, flashing his handsomest smile, and clasping his hands together as though in prayer, "I don't want to send an innocent F.H. to sanitary tonight, you now, the system only works if it works."

Tilly considered him a moment, and then sighed and relented.

"Alright. Okay," Tilly said, with a coy smile, "For you. But I have to run the process on the servers in back…will you be alright waiting here?"

"Yeah, sure," Jerry replied eagerly, tugging out the top paper of Louis's file and saying, "Here's his registry key."

Tilly took the paper and scanned her identity chip at the gate of her cage. It let off a short horn blast, and she tossed it open, heading out towards the back where separate interconnected server towers were caged which hosted the program, mainly consisted of alien tech, that maintained constant communication with the some two hundred and fifty odd tracking devices implanted in Formerly Harnessed quarantined throughout Memorial City.

Jerry caught the gate door as it swung swiftly closed with the folder, letting it clank noisily as though it had shut. He waited a few seconds until Tilly was out of sight, before he slipped inside of the cage. He sat in Tilly's chair in front of the nearest computer and with the practiced deftness of a master hacker began executing commands. The Tracking system and its database ran on a separate server, which was only accessible through Central Tracking's computers, but once inside the cage, data on the system could easily be altered or completely falsified. Several commands later, and magically one of Louis's prior red flags became an anomaly of the system.

Jerry was on his way out of the cage when an alert sounded at the grid computer. He froze at the gate, eyes stuck on the display screen, heart slamming painfully against his chest. It was only a registry code, a string of numbers and letters, but he'd long ago memorized that one code for no other reason beyond that in some way it made him feel as though he remained, albeit indirectly, connected to the Formerly Harnessed to whom it had once been assigned.

But that Formerly Harnessed was supposedly dead by ordered execution, and now his code blazed across that display screen, a ghost from Jerry's past, triggered at the city limits – the only lines that would trip an alarm on a tracking device so old.

Before Jerry realized what he was doing, he plopped in front of the computer and his fingers flew across the board. He couldn't deactivate the tracking device from that computer, it could only be done from the servers in back, and he couldn't shut off the alarm without the on-duty Tracking Officer's access pass, but he could mask the registry code read-out. It wouldn't hold if Tilly or anyone else prodded deeper, but if it fooled her on first glance it wouldn't matter, there wouldn't be a further investigation.

He needed a new code to guise the real one, he could hear the clack of Tilly's shoes slapping against the basement pavement as she made her way back to the front. He rattled around his brain, rifling through the papers on Tilly's desk, before his eyes fell on his folder, and without fully thinking it through, he hastily punched in Louis's code, closed out of the windows, and by the time Tilly rejoined him, he was leaning against her counter again, looking as though he'd been waiting patiently there the entire time.

"The…uh… screen is lighting up and making funny noises…is that bad?" Jerry asked innocently, as Tilly hurriedly scanned her Identity chip and rushed inside the gate.

Jerry watched and waited, anxious. Tilly's fingers flew across the keyboard as she ran the registry on display into the database. Her brow furrowed and she clucked her tongue, shutting off the alert.

"Strange," Tilly commented, leaning in her chair and frowning up at Jerry, "According to the system, the fatch you currently have in custody just red flagged out at city limits."

"Maybe I should check on my prisoner, make sure he hasn't made a break for it," Jerry joked.

"He would've red flagged every other zone on his way out," Tilly noted, smirking, "One of his other red flags didn't show up during the proxy, this might explain it. Sometimes we get phantom flags, we send Enforcers out to check on one of their fatches, but the fatch has been in-zone the whole day, even has witnesses. Usually see it from first or second gen tracking devices, not entirely compatible with the newer black boxes on the boundary lines, but your fatch has fourth gen…very peculiar. But I guess not unheard of. I'll be glad when we switch over to the new nesting trackers."

"Yeah," Jerry mumbled, frowning.

The nesting trackers were a dirty breed, ninety percent alien tech; they burrowed into the host's spinal column, once they were in, though they took their time getting there, they were almost impossible to get out again, and they constantly pinged their exact location in the city limits to one of several tracking towers currently wrapping up construction. There wouldn't be any more crossing lines and grid-wide searches for wayward Formerly Harnessed. Every second of every day, Central Tracking would be aware of the exact location of every Formerly Harnessed registered to Memorial City.

It was still in the beta-testing stage, nesting trackers had only been implanted in Razorbacks thus far. From what Jerry had heard, Research and Development was having trouble getting the nesters into hosts that hadn't retained their rods without killing the host in the process. Rumor had it that retained rods were not a guarantee the host would survive the process either.

"Well, I guess I'm going to go cut my prisoner loose," Jerry sighed, "And I was almost finished with the paperwork too…"

"Oh, Officer Baker," Tilly called as Jerry turned to leave. He paused, looked at her questioningly. She smiled, dropped her eyes, flustering somewhat, and demurely asked, "Did you…have plans…for Victory Day, tonight…maybe?"

"Um…yeah, I did…actually," Jerry mumbled apologetically, grimacing, and making mental note not to visit Tilly in Tracking for a while.

"Oh. Oh, of course you do, of course," Tilly stammered, shaking her head, her face burning a bright red, "I hope you have a great night!"

"Thanks, you too," Jerry said awkwardly, exiting and hurrying down the hall and up the stairs.

Along the way, Jerry turned into one of the restrooms, splashing water into his face then glaring at his drenched reflection. Twin pools of frosted blue glared back at him.

"…_Jimmy…can you believe the war is over?_"

"_I can't believe we _**survived**_. What do you suppose happens now, Ben?"_

Jerry closed his eyes, braced himself against the edge of the sink. Ten years had passed and he could still see that boy's face, clear as day: light hair slightly tousled in the breeze, deep set features, bulking mass of muscle and grace, a wild glint in his eyes; still hear his voice rough and silky smooth with passion

"_Now? Now we rebuild…and this time our dreams are the limit…the future is endless possibility. And we have the chance to do it right, to rebuild the world as a beautiful place...now…"_

Jerry sighed, shuddered, felt his heart racing again and bile rising to the back of his throat. He rolled his eyes up to his reflection again but only a scared, teen-aged orphan named Jimmy, stared back.

"What happens now, Ben?" Jimmy ruefully asked his reflection.

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AN: Most of you had the same question: Would Jimmy be showing up in this story. I didn't want to answer because, to start, I didn't want to ruin the story and also, I knew you'd all have your answer in a couple chapters.

For those of you reading Fire Light, sorry, no update today. I had this chapter already written (months and months and months ago), so I figured I would post this instead to kind of tide you over. If you're not reading Fire Light, then I apologize for the lengthy update waits for this story, but it won't be changing anytime soon. Too much on my plate. And if you read Fire Light, but not this story, how will you get this message? You should read everything I write, always, bwahahahahahahahaha!

Right. Let me know what you thought, please!

Reviewers: NOxONE, well then, read on, you should. LuckyDreamer91, yes, Ben will definitely be someone very cool in this story. Isn't he cool in every story? I don't know, I don't read a lot of Ben stories. Dee, no, you're right, it's way too early in the story to give a good review. I agree. But you managed to write an interesting review, nonetheless. Foods for thought. Savannah, why thank you. I will update soon...as soon as I feel like anyways. The Fiction Fangirl, thank you also, there's your update. It may be awhile for the next one though. Sassysavanna190, did you doubt that it would get good or something?

Thanks for dropping in people! Reviews feed the beast, you know. And remind me to update...I tend to forget sometimes when I'm not on a set schedule.


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